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At my grin, he blinks out of his trance, taken aback. “That’s a real smile,” he says, and now I’m the one who’s shocked.
I’ve been putting on a sunshiny act, but him finally taking off his shoes made me really feel happy for a second. That’s what coming to the beach is all about, letting yourself go a bit, feeling the sand between your toes. But how did he know I was putting on a front? I don’t know what to say, but warmth begins to fill my belly. He keeps walking and I follow, until his feet enter the water. I join him, squeaking at how cold it is.
“This is the real star of the show,” I say. “There’s nothing better than just diving in and paddling out. It’s calm now, but see those clouds? There’ll be big waves later on.”
“Do you surf?” he asks, looking down at me. I’m gazing out at my little slice of heaven, but I can feel his eyes on me.
“Surf, swim, float around on my back until I’m cooked. As long as it’s in the water. You?” I look up at him and now his eyes shift to the almost glassy sea.
“A million years ago,” he says.
“That’s way too long.”
He only smirks, shaking his head. One of the little kids splashes past him. “Hey mister, you need a bathing suit!”
He doesn’t laugh at the kid, but steps back out of the water. “He’s right,” I say, following him back up toward my setup. “There’s a shop a block away where you could buy one.”
“Not today.” He rubs his neck, rolling it with a grimace.
I clap my hands together with greed— and the sudden desire to get my hands on his broad shoulders. “If you’re not swimming, you should at least take advantage of my world-famous beach view massages.”
“World famous?” His full lip quirks up.
“City famous. Really, I can fix up your sore neck in only fifteen minutes and only fifteen dollars.” I wilt a little, remembering he already overpaid for the water. “Six, since I gouged you on the drink.”
He rolls his eyes and takes out his wallet. “I only have twenties left and I don’t want this getting clogged up with a bunch of small bills.”
I goggle as he loosens his tie and starts unbuttoning his shirt. Normally, if a customer doesn’t already have bare shoulders, I don’t ask them to disrobe, but my mouth isn’t working right again and I can’t make myself tell him to stop. He whips his tie over his head and eases his shirt off, neatly draping it on the corner of my jewelry table. He’s wearing a white tank top and his arms and shoulders are corded with muscle. The thin, stretchy cotton clings to the abs that I can see rippling beneath it.
Once he’s seated, I eagerly grab my oil. “This is a dry oil so it won’t mess up your shirt,” I explain, pouring it into my hand. Why am I close to shaking with anticipation to touch this guy?
“You’re the expert,” he says, turning and holding out his hand. “I’m Brian, by the way, now that you’ve got my shirt off. Brian Hart.”
“Oh!” I hold out my oily hand to shake, then quickly pull it away before smoothing my palms onto his bare shoulders. They’re rock hard and I dig my fingers in. “I’m Clarice.”
He moans softly and I keep kneading, working up the sides of his neck with my thumbs. I’ve never felt awkward duringa massage before. “What brings you to the beach dressed like you’re going to a business meeting?” I ask.
“I’m going to a business meeting,” he answers. “I’d believe this is world famous. You’re amazing.”
My cheeks heat up at the compliment and I work down his biceps, mostly just to feel them, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I’m standing much too close to him, so close I can smell his spicy cologne. This is more than awkward. Why am I being like this?
“What kind of meeting?” I normally don’t make silly small talk when someone’s trying to relax but his proximity has my stomach fluttering and my thighs trembling.
He tilts his head back at me with a grin that melts me from my fingertips down to my toes. I shift my legs closer together and ease my hands back up his arms.
“I’m actually about to buy this beach,” he says.
My vision goes dark and my fingers dig into his shoulders so hard he grunts.Be professional,I warn myself.
“What?” I shriek, stepping back.
“Was that already fifteen minutes?” he asks.
“What are you buying the beach for?” I barely keep from launching at him, all I can do to keep from declaring itmybeach, and off limits to greedy developers. Oh God, why did this man have to be one of them?
He points toward the construction. “That’s mine,” he says, with the audacity to seem proud. “We’ll be adding onto it. Place isn’t half finished and already at sixty percent capacity. People want to live at the beach.”
“People want to go to the beach,” I spit. “Regular people who can’t afford to live here. This land might be privately owned but it’s been open to the public for years.”
